


You Don't Own Me

by Anisoptera_Nigra



Series: Girl on Fire [2]
Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 03:55:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30083103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anisoptera_Nigra/pseuds/Anisoptera_Nigra
Summary: Post S3. June recalls her escape from Gilead to Canada. Part two of 'Girl on Fire', follows 'Nameless, Faceless', but all you need to know from that is June has survived being shot in the S3 finale, has reunited with Nick and is serving as a Handmaid under a false identity. They then plan to rescue Hannah and escape together.
Relationships: Luke Bankole/June Osborne | Offred, Nick Blaine/June Osborne | Offred
Series: Girl on Fire [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2213163
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	You Don't Own Me

**Author's Note:**

> Characters belong to Margaret Atwood and the show runners at Hulu. All mistakes are mine.  
> Thank you for reading.

He had to become Commander Blaine for the plan to work. That’s what they didn’t understand – Luke and Moira, and even Emily to an extent. In the end Gilead had twisted her so badly that she couldn’t imagine going along with the system, breaking it from the inside. But she was one of the lucky ones. Mostly the ones who bucked against the regime, who committed outright acts of resistance, mostly all they succeeded in doing was getting themselves killed. I was over making whole bold, suicidal, fuck-you gestures this time. This time I wanted my life back.

So, we made a plan. A Commander could do things that a Driver, or a Handmaid, or a Martha couldn’t. A respected, powerful Commander, well, he could do even more. The plan meant Nick would toe the line, do everything they asked of him without so much as a raised eyebrow. He was good at it too, managing to find that sweet spot between too-pious-to-be-true and fully-paid-up-member of the resistance. He was a model soldier, but he also had fingers in the black market. He was strict about discipline and order in his men, but he knew all the girls at the local Jezebels. He was a mercenary, a player of both sides, a man with only his own self-interest at heart. The Commanders lapped it up. A useful man to have around they called him. A means to an end, we said.

Gradually, he worked his way closer to Commander Mackenzie. There were endless meetings in sanctums of men where women weren’t allowed. Circular discussion of military tactics wreathed in cigar smoke and soaked in illicit whiskey. Nick could somehow always procure a bottle of the good quality stuff from Before, the one with the gold label and wax around the stopper that they all salivated over. He would exchange it for titbits of information about Hannah that he brought home to me. She was doing well in school, her teachers all said what an exemplary young girl she was. She was getting so tall now – needed all new outfits, she had grown out of the last ones so fast. They were going for a weekend away at the Lake House, she loved it there.

I stored them all away like nuggets of gold, imagining her on the shore, shoes and socks off, digging her bare toes in the sand, splashing through the shallow waves at the water’s edge. They probably wouldn’t let her go swimming anymore, not now she was getting older, on the verge of turning into a young woman. They wouldn’t think it was seemly, not an appropriate thing for a well brought up girl. But they would let her paddle at least, I hoped.

Sometimes there were big gaps between new stories about her. Sometimes there were big gaps between my meetings with Nick. It wasn’t always easy to see one another, not when the consequences of getting caught were greater every day. I lived that weekend at the Lake House over and over again in my head for a long time.

One day I was violently sick. We were in the garden delicately weeding around the petunias when my stomach heaved and vomit splattered into the grass. The Commander’s wife looked horrified, she leapt back, pulling her skirts close around her, as if afraid they would get splashed. “What’s wrong with her? Get her inside the house!” she shrieked, as I retched and retched. Our Martha put her arm around me as she led me away. “I put something in your tea,” she muttered. “Had to make it look real. Don’t worry, it won’t last long.”

I was bundled into the car, supposedly to be driven to the doctors. The journey passed in a haze of nausea. When we stopped it was at the back entrance of Jezebels. Jezebels here was a more modest affair, a large house with a parlour that served drinks and bedrooms for the girls upstairs. I was hustled through the kitchen and up the back stairs. “Quickly,” one of the girls whispered, “he’s waiting for you.”

In one of the rooms Nick was there. He caught me in his arms as I stumbled through the door and held me until my dizziness passed and my breathing steadied. I stank of vomit and sweat stuck my hair to my face in limp strands, but we were past caring about things like that anymore.

“Fuck,” he said simply. “What did they do to you to get you here?”

I shook my head, pulling away from him and heading to the bathroom to wash my face and rinse my mouth out with cold water. At least the Martha had been right, I was feeling better already.

“You don’t want to know,” I said, walking back out into the room. “What is it, what happened?”

“I was invited to Mackenzie’s house,” he perched on the end of the bed as he talked, feet flat on the floor, jacket still on, all business. Sometimes we met here to have sex. This wasn’t one of those times.

Mackenzie had made a special fuss over him, Nick explained. Had drawn him to one side, started chatting about his personal life, his ambitions for the future.

“You don’t have a wife yet, do you son?” he had asked.

“I had one once,” Nick had replied. “It didn’t work out.”

Mackenzie had nodded, of course he knew about what had happened with Eden.

“Yes, an unfortunate incident. But that was all put down to misbehaviour on the girl’s part.”

Nick just nodded back, not trusting his voice.

“With the right girl,” Mackenzie continued. “You could both have a bright future ahead of you. Your star is rising, son, and I want to help you with that.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“My daughter, Agnes,” Mackenzie had begun, and a chill snaked down Nick’s spine. “My daughter Agnes is eleven now. She had her menarche exam last week.”

“They grow up so fast,” Nick had managed to mutter in reply.

“I’ve been thinking about her future, making plans. She needs to find a good husband, a fine young man, loyal to Gilead – someone like you.”

I think only Nick could have kept his composure at this point, certainly he was shaking as he told me the story, disgust tingeing his voice.

“I’m honoured you would think of me sir,” he had said.

Mackenzie had smiled. “Good, good. Now, she’s too young to be married straight away, but if you were prepared to wait for a few years then I think we could come to an arrangement.”

“Thank you, sir,” Nick had repeated.

“I asked around about you,” Mackenzie said and Nick had frozen suddenly, his heart in his mouth. How much did Mackenzie know about his time with the Waterfords? Had he made the connection between Nick and the Handmaid who was Agnes’s real mother? Did he know about Nick’s links to Mayday, his secret support of the Resistance? If he did, he didn’t let on.

“I know about your visits to Jezebel’s,” Mackenzie had continued and Nick breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s okay, as long as you keep it discreet. Men have needs and I won’t have my daughter used as a sex toy. Carry on as you are, and you’ll be a good fit in this family.”

“Yes, sir.”

Nick recounted the conversation in horror, clenching his fists into the bedsheets as he spoke.

“You should have heard him,” he said bitterly. “Trading his daughter off like cattle. You can breed with her but don’t fuck her for fun.”

At first I agreed with him, Hannah – my baby girl – who should be taking trips to the mall, giggling with her friends, just discovering boys, married off to a stranger more than twice her age. Forced to act as breeding stock with her mother’s lover. Then I saw the flip side – we could use this, this was the opportunity we had been waiting for.

“We have to get her out,” Nick said, sounding more committed to the task than I had ever heard him be before. It was always for me before. Save her to save me. Now I knew he was thinking of Eden, of his fifteen-year-old wife who had died for a chance to feel real love. He was imaging Hannah’s face behind the white veil, Hannah’s body underneath the sheet with the hole in it. Just those thoughts were enough to make me want to vomit again, but I knew he wouldn’t let it go that far.

“This is good,” I squeezed his arm, bringing him back into the room, back to me. “At least it’s you. Not some dirty old man who’ll do God knows what to her.

“You should ask to see her,” I suggested, already giddy with the possibilities. “Tell Mackenzie that you want to get to know her a little bit, so it’s not so strange for her later. Get him to trust you with her. Then – ”

“Then,” he echoed, and I was smiling now, stood between his legs, face close to his face, hands moving to clasp his hands.

“Then we take her.”

*

The night before it was happening we snuck out to meet one another. It was an unnecessary risk. My Commander was home and I should have been in my room. If my absence was noted it could have ruined the whole plan, but neither of us could resist. Success or failure it could end up being the last time we ever spent alone with one another, the last chance for us to be together. We didn’t say it in words, we never say much in words, but we both knew it was the truth.

I didn’t dare stray too far from the house, and it was a warm night, so we met in the woods. The ground was soft with pine needles, the smell rich and earthy. He laid his coat down first and then me down on top of it. There wasn’t much preamble before he fucked me on the forest floor. I say fucked, because that’s what it was, physical and intense, a release of tension, a claiming. The things I have done with this man the old June would have blushed to even think of. The old June would have needed shaved legs and a big bed and mood lighting. But that’s what Gilead does to you I suppose, it strips away need to its most base.

In that place I needed food, water, shelter and him. Without him I lost myself slightly. My edges began to blur and melt into the world around me. I became too much like _them_. He brought me back to myself, the sensation of being touched, loved – it was like waking up from a nightmare.

Now that I am not there, in that place, any longer, now that love is a staple of everyday life, not an indulgence that could get you killed, will I still need him anymore? In a world where emotions are uncensored, where you can hold hands in public, where you can roll over in bed on a Sunday morning and make love for as long as you like, whispered endearments lose their significance, a quick tumble on the ground seems less appealing. Was it ever as real as it felt, or was everything just heightened by the risk of being caught? Am I purposefully devaluing what we had so as to cope better with its loss? Does it make me less of a slut, a betrayer of my husband, to believe I really truly loved him?

I can’t answer these questions now, these questions don’t belong in this part of the story. They are for later. Right then I did really love him. I was on fire for him. We were going to take on Gilead together, we were going to rescue my precious girl. I have never loved anyone more than in that moment when I demanded the impossible and he came through with it.

The plan was both complicated and devastatingly simple. The complicated bit was getting all the pieces into place. I couldn’t just walk away from my Commander’s house, my absence would have to be explained, so the usefully ever bribable Aunt Beatrice was persuaded to convene a prayer circle for the handmaids. Attendance was mandatory, of course, only mine would be short-lived.

Nick, meanwhile, had arranged to take Hannah to see a house he was thinking of acquiring for them when they got married. They had met a handful of times so far, firstly at the Mackenzies’ house, then later on small trips out. There had been a walk once, later a picnic, all accompanied by a Martha as a chaperone, of course. These trips had been important to build trust with the Mackenzies – take her out, bring her home safe. That was the pattern and there was no reason to suspect that one day he was going to break it.

I had never been allowed on one of the trips, even though I had begged Nick. We had argued bitterly about it – _just let me along, I’ll watch from the car, she won’t even see me, I promise_. He had refused point blank, not even letting me know the dates of the trips until after they had happened. I had cursed him, spat at him, hit him with my fists, but in the end I knew he was right. If I was caught having contact with Hannah, then everything would be over, even my false identity, the pretense keeping me alive, could be lost. We were playing the long game now, and I had to trust Nick.

On that day – the day we’d planned for so long and so carefully – Nick picked up Hannah and her Martha early. The earlier we left, the longer before we were missed, we figured. They would drive to the house, conveniently an abandoned farm in the middle of nowhere, and – after sneaking out of the prayer circle – one of Nick’s men would pick me up and drive me there to meet them. We stopped on the side of the road so I could change into a wife’s outfit – easier for getting through the checkpoints – and the guardian stared openly as I stripped down to my underwear. It was a measure of how much Gilead had changed me that I didn’t even feel a flicker of offence. If he was going to risk his life to help us, he may as well enjoy the view.

When we pulled up at the house Nick, Hannah and her Martha were walking in the garden. At the sound of the car I saw Nick put his hand on his gun, and the Martha pull Hannah closer towards her. As we got out I saw terror on the Martha’s face, confusion on Hannah’s. It broke my heart that despite our meeting eighteen months ago, she didn’t remember me, didn’t even recognise her own mother.

Then as I hurried closer, stumbling slightly in the impractical wife shoes, not quite my size, Hannah’s face crumpled into tears.

_“Mom?”_

I burst into a smile, reaching out my arms for her. “Yes, baby, I’m here.”

The Martha moved to stand between us, blocking my access to Hannah.

“What’s going on?” she demanded angrily. “Commander Blaine?”

She was brave, I was grateful for that, I was glad someone with courage had been protecting my daughter.

“We’re getting Agnes out,” Nick said simply, his hand still on his gun. “You can come with us or you can stay behind. It’s your choice.”

The Martha – Johanna I would later learn her name was – looked from Nick to me to the Guardian stood by the car, hand also on his gun. It took her only a second to decide.

“I’ll come with you.”

“Good,” Nick nodded. “Then we need to leave now.”

Johanna released her grip on Hannah and she rushed towards me. I swept her up into my arms, tears burning on my cheeks. There is truly nothing in the world like the feeling of holding your own child in your arms. I knew then that this attempt would be my final chance to rescue Hannah. It was truly do or die because they would have to actually kill me to get me to let go of her ever again.

“In the car,” Nick gestured to his vehicle and we climbed into the back. He spoke quietly to the Guardian who drove away in his own car.

“Will he be okay?” I asked. “He’s not going to give us away?”

Nick started the engine. “He’s headed back to the front lines. They’ll swear he never left.”

“How do you know you can trust him?”

Nick met my eyes briefly in the rearview mirror. “Everyone has a price. I knew his.”

I nodded, because it is true. I am Nick’s price. Hannah is mine. Today was the day that price got paid.

We drove, and there was a reassuring familiarity to it, Nick in the driving seat, me in the back. Only this time Hannah was tucked in by my side. We went South. The search parties would all go North, Nick had said. They would expect us to flee towards Canada not deeper into Gilead. Going South would buy us some time.

At the first checkpoint I held my breath. We had fake security passes – would they pass inspection? Our cover story was simple, a Commander and his family on a day out, would we get away with it? Could such basic freedom be actually allowed in Gilead?

The passes were hardly glanced at, Nick had been right, security going South was much less than going North. After the checkpoint we left the main road, we were headed to the lakeside, to a boat moored by an isolated jetty. Nick could sail. It was something that had never occurred to me before, despite the picture he kept displayed of the two boys by the lake. He had spent every summer of his teenaged years staying with his grandmother on Mackinac Island. He had earned pocket money working on sailboats for tourists. He knew every inch of the waters from here to Canada. He would sail us out of here.

The boat wasn’t much – Nick had found it in an abandoned boat house and had it fixed up – but it had a small engine in case the wind wasn’t blowing in the right direction. There was a little space below deck Nick had stocked with food and extra blankets. There were lifejackets too. It would be a long trip, Nick had explained. We needed to travel to the top of Lake Michigan then through the Straits of Mackinac to Lake Huron. Then it was a short dash across open water to the Canadian side of the lake. The most dangerous part would be passing between the two lakes. We would be sailing under the Mackinac Bridge which carried the I75. There were frequent security patrols and by the time we got there they would most likely be alerted to be on the look-out for a missing little girl. Our best bet would be to do it under the cover of nightfall.

The day on the water was pleasant. If we hadn’t had been fleeing for our lives I would have enjoyed it. Nick taught Hannah how to set the sails to catch the breeze and control the direction of the boat, and I saw flashes of the happy-go-lucky girl she had been in the pleasure she took from getting it right. The sun was warm on the deck of the boat and we ate picnic sandwiches for lunch, throwing crumbs over the side for silvery fish that trailed along in our wake. It was a facsimile of what we could have been in another world, a family simply enjoying spending time together.

Occasionally, we saw other boats, some pleasure craft, but mostly security patrols. Pleasure was frowned on in Gilead. When a security patrol hailed us I felt Johanna next to me shake with fear, but Nick answered them confidently. _Blessed day to you, just making the most of the beautiful weather God’s sent us._ I smiled and waved, prodded Hannah to do the same and the boat sped away satisfied.

As the sun started to go down Nick headed towards the shore. It was too dangerous to be out on the lake this late, he explained. It would be suspicious. We would need to hide out in a little bay until full night then we could set off again to sneak through the straits. The wait was difficult. While we were moving it felt like we were making progress away from Gilead, staying still just felt like we were hiding out waiting for them to come and find us.

Around midnight Nick decided it was safe to set out again. He didn’t want to use the motor because of the noise, so we relied on the sails only to glide us along. Luckily there was a brisk wind, though it was cold now without the warmth of the sun to take the edge off. Johanna retreated below to stay with Hannah who has fallen asleep in a nest of blankets and I sat in the prow of the boat with Nick. The silence was eerie, the only sounds the gentle lap of water against the sides of the boat and the clink of the sails in the breeze. We didn’t talk, it felt like to do so would break some spell that had fallen over us, keeping us safe. Every so often he lit a cigarette and we passed it between us, relying on the effects of the nicotine to calm our stretched nerves.

As we passed through the Mackinac Straits I was conscious of the dark shadows of coastline on either side of us. Occasional pinpricks of light were visible in the distance and each one felt like an eye seeking us out. We didn’t even dare light a cigarette at that point, in case the glow from the butt was visible from the shore. At one point a drone flew overhead, but we hid under the shadow of the I75 bridge until it passed on. Nick steered us close to land on one side and I gripped his arm tightly, an anxious question in my eyes.

“Don’t worry,” he explained in a low whisper. “This island is mostly nature reserve. We’ll be safer hugging the shore here than out in the main channel.”

We sailed on at what seemed like a snail’s pace, time stretching out ridiculously slowly. Surely this was the longest night of my life? Nothing seemed to be changing, the endless blackness of the water, the tiny sliver of waning moon in the sky, the clanking of the sails. Then, all of a sudden, my ears caught another sound, the tell-tale _phut phut phut_ of a motor boat. I strained my eyes and I could see it – the search light blinking in the distance, coming ever closer.

“Nick!” I hissed, my nails digging into the sleeve of his coat.

“Get below with Hannah,” he ordered, pulling away from me to furl up the sails.

“What are you doing?”

“We can’t outrun them,” he explained. “Our best hope is that they don’t see us. Taking the sails down will make us harder to spot.”

I nodded. “Let me help.”

Together we tied up the sails and then I slipped through the small hatch into the space below the deck. There was barely room to stand up straight, so I sat next to Johanna, my back against the side of the boat, my arms hugging my knees. She was awake, one hand resting protectively on Hannah’s sleeping form. Her eyes looked white with terror in the dark.

“What’s happening?” she asked.

I shook my head in answer, putting a finger to my lips. The sound of the motor boat got louder and louder, a roaring in my ears. Johanna held out her hand to me and I squeezed it tightly. The roar was deafening now, right up next to us. And then it stopped. I held my breath.

“Hey, you!” a harsh unfamiliar voice hailed us. Shards of bright light flickered through the boat’s hatch and port holes. “What are you doing on that boat? Identify yourself!”

“Blessed night,” Nick’s voice called back. “Was just out for a sail on a lovely evening. Got turned around in the dark, so I thought I’d stay put awhile until daylight.”

“Very good, sir,” came the shout back – they have registered his Commander’s uniform. “But we’ll need to search your boat. We’ve had reports of a missing child in the area.”

Johanna’s hand gripped mine harder. Silent tears were running down her cheeks, she was sure we were caught. So was I. I looked across at Hannah, peacefully sleeping and I remembered the last time I’d seen her like that and been dragged away afterwards. I remembered the conversation I’d had with Mrs Mackenzie.

_“You know this all ends with you dead on the ground in front of her.”_

This was how it ended. Me dead in the water, most likely. I just prayed she slept through it all again.

“No problem, come aboard,” I heard Nick reply.

There was a banging and a scraping, the boat rocked slightly and I felt my stomach jolt. Then an indistinct shout, three loud gun shots, a thud and a splash. Johanna cried out in terror. Hannah stirred, her head lifting from the blankets, eyes confused with sleep.

“It’s okay, baby girl,” I whispered, trying to keep my voice steady. “Just lie back down. It’s okay.”

Nothing happened for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably just a few seconds. Then the hatch opened and Nick’s head appeared.

“It’s okay,” he said simply. “I shot them. But there might be more, so we have to go now.”

I let out a long breath. Johanna started to cry. I took her by the arm and shook her slightly. “Keep it together,” I hissed, “For Hannah.”

I climbed out of the hatch onto the boat deck. Nick was holding one arm slightly strangely and his sleeve looked wet and sticky.

“It’s fine,” he pulled away when I tried to touch him. “The second one managed to get a shot off before I got him. It’s just a graze.”

I slipped off one of my shoes, stripped the stocking from underneath and wrapped it around the top of his arm as a makeshift bandage. He grimaced slightly as I did it, but said nothing.

“What next?” I asked.

“We need to get in their boat,” he said. “It’s faster than ours. We’re not far from the Canadian border, our best chance is to run.”

I nodded, looking down at the small motor launcher moored next to our yacht. It had a large outboard engine and the body of a Guardian was sprawled across the seats. Nick was climbing down into the little boat already.

“Help me tip him in the lake,” he asked.

I climbed down awkwardly after him, the two boats swaying and bobbing dangerously. As I lowered myself down the ladder I saw Johanna and Hannah emerging onto the deck nervously.

In the motorboat I maneuvered myself towards the Guardian’s feet while Nick grabbed his head and shoulders. As we picked him up to move him, he groaned.

“He’s still alive!” gasped Johanna.

I looked up and met Nick’s eyes, my own expression was mirrored there, a grim determination. Together we heaved the man overboard and he slipped silently beneath the dark water. I felt a second of something like regret – who was this man I had just killed? Maybe he was like Nick, a decent person in an impossible situation just trying to survive. Did he have a family, people who loved and would miss him? A child who would never see her father again? Then I pushed those thoughts down. If he’d lived he would have turned us in. Three of us would be dead and Hannah would be stuck in Gilead forever. Now we had a chance, but we had to move quickly.

“Come on, Banana,” I called up to Hannah. “Come down here into the boat.”

Once we were all in we set off. Nick opened the throttle on the engine full, uncaring of the noise now. If anyone was listening they would have heard the gunshots and would already be on their way to investigate. The wind whipped in our faces and I pulled Hannah tight in next to me. None of us talked, I could barely even form a coherent thought, just a constant litany of prayer.

_Please let us get away. Please let us get away._

The desperate race went on forever. My hands and feet went numb as the night got colder and darker around us. Eventually we passed some tiny islands on the left hand side of us, black lumps of rocks and trees poking out of the water. We carried on for another five or ten minutes before Nick eased off on the throttle, dropping his head between his knees.

For a moment I was terrified. Had we run out of gas? Was there a problem?

“It’s okay,” he lifted his head to look back at me. “We crossed the border. We’re in Canada.”

I gasped in relief. Johanna burst into tears. “Praise be,” she murmured. “Canada. Praise be.”

Nick started the boat again, travelling slower this time, heading in towards the lake shore. He scanned the land continuously, eyes straining in the dark for the right spot to bring the boat in.

“Canada?” Hannah asked from next to me. “Are we going to stay there?”

“Yes, sweetie,” I nodded. “Daddy and Auntie Moira are there already waiting for us.”

“Does that mean I’m not going home again?”

I looked down at her in her pink Gilead robe and cap and my heart broke for her. This was the second time in her short life she was being torn away from the home and parents she knew. The Mackenzies had loved her, she had been happy there. Had I done the right thing by taking her away from them, or was I just being selfish?

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry if you’re going to miss your other Mom and Dad and your friends there. But I hope you can have a better life in Canada. I want you to have choices in your life.”

She nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. “Okay. Does this mean I don’t have to marry Commander Blaine?”

I looked up at Nick, but he didn’t look back, the only sign he heard a slight tightening of his shoulders.

“No, Hannah,” I told her, squeezing her shoulders tight. “You don’t have to marry Nick. You don’t have to marry anyone you don’t want to. You can pick your own clothes, and go to school. Or the movies or the mall. And there won’t be people with guns telling you what to do all the time.”

“Okay,” she nodded again. “And Daddy will be there?”

“Yeah,” I said, tears falling down my own cheeks. “Daddy is there – do you remember Daddy?”

She bit her lip. “A little.”

“Good, good. He remembers you, and he can’t wait to see you again.”

“Here,” Nick called out and I noticed we were very close to the shore now. He was guiding the boat in towards a small wooden jetty.

From the jetty steps led up to the garden of a modest looking clapperboard house. There were no lights on in the house, but it was close to dawn at this point and the sky in the East was starting to turn a paler blue colour. Nick walked confidently up to the door of the house and banged on it loudly. Somewhere a dog started barking and Johanna jumped in fright. I knew where she was coming from. I used to love dogs, but now they just make me think of snarling mouths hunting me down in the woods.

“Don’t worry,” Nick muttered, “I know these people.”

A light came on in the house, then another, and after a few minutes the door opened to reveal the anxious faces of an elderly couple. There was a moment of silence then one of them held up a lamp, shone it in Nick’s face.

“Little Nicky Blaine, is that you?” the woman asked.

“Hi, Mrs O’Reilly, sorry to bother you so early, but can we come in?” Nick replied, like it was a perfectly normal thing we were doing, just dropping in on some old friends.

“Of course, of course,” she said politely, and we all trooped past her into a cosy-looking kitchen. 

Mr O’Reilly caught sight of the gun on Nick’s hip and the bandage on his arm and put out a hand to stop him. “What’s going on, son?”

“You should call the police,” Nick told him. “I’ve been helping these people out of Gilead.”

Mr O’Reilly disappeared to find a phone and Mrs O’Reilly stared at us for a minute.

“Is this your family, Nicky?” she finally asked.

He shook his head. “Just some friends who needed help, Mrs O’Reilly.”

She smiled at him maternally. “Oh, you always were such a good boy. Always one to help out. I missed you so much when you stopped sailing by to see us. Now, you folks must be hungry for some breakfast.”

Nick nodded. “Maybe some tea. We don’t want to put you to any trouble. We won’t be here long.”

“Nonsense, it's no trouble. We hardly get any visitors here anymore. Not since – ” she looked up at us, taking in our Gilead outfits disapprovingly, “Well, you know.” She forced her face into a friendly smile. “Anything you need, you just say so.”

Hannah pulled at my sleeve. “Could I, please, have a coke?”

Mrs O’Reilly had heard. “Of course, you can, dear. I’m sure I’ve got some coca cola here somewhere.”

She rummaged through some cupboards and pulled out a couple of dusty glass bottles of cola. We sat at the kitchen table to drink them, the bubbles completely alien in my mouth. Funny how a drink can taste so much like freedom.

Mrs O’Reilly made breakfast eggs while we waited for the police to arrive. Hannah tucked into hers with gusto, but Nick barely picked at his plate. His face looked pinched with pain and fatigue. I slid my hand under the table, rested it on his knee.

“Thank you.”

He looked up at me, smiling for the first time in I don’t know how long. I can probably count the number of real smiles I have had from him on the fingers of my hands. It makes them precious, like rubies.

He nodded, shrugged. “I owed you.”

*

The local police brought immigration officers with them. Most likely they are used to Gilead refugees showing up in that part of Canada. For a minute Nick’s Commander and my Wife outfits caused confusion, but then I showed them the red tag in my ear and everything sped up after that. They asked us if we wanted to claim asylum and we said yes then they took us to the nearest hospital for medical checks.

At the hospital they asked us if we had family in Canada, Johanna and I said yes, Nick said no. They would contact our family we were told, then when we were done at the hospital we would be taken to the nearest refugee centre to meet them there. It was surreal to sit quietly in a hospital waiting room, holding Hannah’s hand, imaging Luke getting the call.

_Mr Bankhole_ , they would say. _Husband of June Osborne?_ He would say yes, maybe his heart would start to beat a little faster. Maybe he wouldn’t get too excited at first, maybe he got a lot of calls that turned out to be false alarms, maybe he had learned not to hope too hard. _We have your wife and daughter_ , they would say next. _They’re in Canada. They’re okay. We hope to reunite you soon._

Then what would he say? What would he feel? I’m ashamed to say at that moment I wasn’t really sure. Maybe he would cry. Maybe he would be joyful, relieved, a little nervous to see us after all that time. Maybe he would shout in exaltation. I couldn’t picture his face finding out, I couldn’t hear his voice in my head and know the words he would say. He was a photograph blurred at the edges, a memory, not a real person. What if he wasn’t who I remembered him to be? What if I wasn’t who he remembered me to be?

I was desperate to see him again. I was terrified to see him again. I was afraid I wouldn’t even recognise him.

Johanna’s family were in Manitoba. She left soon to catch a flight there. We hugged tightly before she went and Hannah cried a little. We exchanged names – that was all we could give one another, we had no phones or addresses yet, of course – and promised to try to keep in touch. Whether we ever will, I don’t yet know.

Nick needed to stay a little longer to get his arm stitched up. It was agreed he would come with us to the refugee centre in Toronto when he was done, there was not really anywhere else for him to go. He didn’t want Hannah to see the wound on his arm, so we sat outside on hard plastic chairs, an immigration officer hovering nearby. Our medical checks hadn’t taken very long, there was nothing wrong with us. Nothing _physical_ anyway.

Around late-morning they put us in the back of a car for the journey to Toronto. Hannah fell asleep almost immediately. I was exhausted, Nick too. I found his hand, entwined his fingers with mine and he looked sideways at me from under heavily lidded eyes.

“Hey, Nicky,” I whispered, slightly teasing.

His lips twitched like he wanted to smile and he squeezed my hand back. I settled into his side, my head on his shoulder, my body resting against his good arm.

“I love you,” I breathed into his ear, wanting to say it one last time.

I saw him glance towards the front of the vehicle, to the immigration officer driving. He was ever the Gilead man, always worried about who was watching, who was listening. I wondered if that would ever stop, if it would ever stop for me either.

“Me too,” he murmured back after a beat, low enough for only me to hear. It was enough to break the final thread of tension inside me. I closed my eyes, relaxed against him and let sleep claim me.

*

I jolted awake when the car stopped at the Toronto refugee centre. For a moment I panicked, wondering where I was, then it came back to me and I smiled slowly, gazing down at Hannah’s still sleeping form next to me. I turned to Nick, but he was looking out of the car window, towards some approaching police officers. I started to say something, but he shook his head minutely, stiffening his body so no parts of us were touching.

The approaching men opened Nick’s door, they were wearing a different uniform to the police we had seen so far. On their sleeve was a flag with stripes and two stars. I swallowed hard.

“Commander Blaine?” the first man asked, and I knew the use of his Gilead title meant nothing good.

Nick nodded, getting out of the car.

“Commander Blaine,” the police officer repeated. “I am arresting you for acts of domestic terrorism and crimes against humanity. You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say may be taken down and used as evidence against you.”

I tuned out the rest of the Miranda rights, breathing hard. _Fuck_ , we had known this would happen, but we hadn’t expected it to be so soon. I had been hoping he would at least get to see Nichole once first, that maybe we would get a chance to say goodbye. I wanted to call after him, to say something, but the door on the other side of the car opened up and a concerned woman looked in at me.

“Ms Osborne?” she said. “Would you like to come with me? Your family are waiting for you.”

I nudged Hannah awake, helped her out of the car. It took her a minute to get her bearings and by the time we were on the sidewalk I looked back to see Nick’s head being pushed into a waiting police car. The helpful woman followed my gaze.

“I’m sorry,” she said earnestly. “We didn’t know who that man was with you at first, or we never would have made you travel with him. I hope you’re okay.”

I shook my head, not quite knowing what to say. She took my elbow, ushering me through double doors into the building.

“No,” I tried to explain. “It's not – ”

Then a cry. “Oh my God!”

I looked up, and I couldn’t think about Nick anymore. Luke was there, and Moira, and they looked exactly how I had pictured them, but sharper, more in focus. Real.

“June!” Luke cried out. “Hannah!”

Hannah shrank into my side slightly, her mouth opening in shock. “Daddy?”

Then he was running towards us, Moira close behind and I felt multiple sets of arms wrap around me. Luke was crying and Moira was crying and I was crying and Hannah was pressed tight against me and I felt broken and put back together again all at the same time.

“Fuck, shit, fuck, shit, fuck,” Moira repeated over and over again.

“I love you,” Luke said through his tears. “God, I love you. I love you June, I love you Hannah Banana. I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry.”

I didn’t say anything. There were no words. There was only this overwhelming tide of feeling. Love, joy, sadness for what we’d lost, relief, fear. It was finally over. It was only just beginning.

We had sunk down onto the floor together and at some point we realised we were still in doorway to the building. People were sidling past respectfully, trying not to stare. Scenes like this in that place were almost common by then. We staggered to our feet, looking one another over, drinking each other in.

“Girl,” Moira said to me. “You look ridiculous in that outfit.”

I nodded, wiping tears from my cheeks. “I know, right?”

“We should find you a change of clothes.”

“That sounds good,” I replied. “Nothing red though. Not my colour.”

The small joke delighted Luke and Moira, like a glimmer of the old June shining through. We laughed and cried and hugged again until Hannah broke the moment.

“I’m hungry,” she announced. “Can we get something to eat?”

“Of course we can, Banana,” Luke gushed. “Whatever you want.”

“That’s settled then,” Moira slid her arm around my shoulders. “Clothes for Mommy, food for Hannah. Sounds like a plan, let’s go.”

She led us deeper into the building and, as easy as that, we started our new life.

Except that’s a lie.

It wasn’t easy at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song by Lesley Gore. Sample lyric: 'I'm free and I love to be free/to live my life the way I want/to say and do whatever I please'.  
> Apologies if any of the geography of the Great Lakes is incorrect, all information is inferred from google maps. I have no idea how long it would actually take to sail the length of Lake Michigan, or if it is even possible to travel the route I suggested so I have used some creative guesswork to fit into the story. Sorry if anyone is local to that area and spots some glaring mistakes.  
> Part Three covers June's adjustment to living in Canada and will follow soon.  
> Thank you for reading. All comments gratefully received.


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